


All my Life I've Been Good but Now...

by Kittykilly (TardisTeaParty)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternative Sexuality, F/F, F/M, Female John Watson, Female Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8381074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisTeaParty/pseuds/Kittykilly
Summary: Goody two shoes Jane Watson begins to question what she's signed up for when her roommate, Sarah Holmes, turns out to be a consulting detective with a love for crazy cases and clients.





	

What have I gotten myself into. I am not even sure if it's a question anymore.  
My life used to make so much sense. I was the top of my class all through school, even throughout Med school, mostly because I had no life outside of studying. I was a good girl; I never dated a single guy I didn't get explicitly approved by my parents and I didn't know what sex was until I learned about it in Biology. Drugs? Please. I never learned about those until Med school when we were trained in treating overdoses. Of course, I knew they existed, but I had never witnessed anyone take any. Definitely not in the surplus that my new roommate just took.  
"Erm... Sarah?" I asked tentatively, looking at the scarily skinny woman lying on a couch in our den. Her eyelids fluttered.  
"Yes... Jane?" She whispered, barely moving her pallid lips. I was seriously concerned. There were four nicotine patches on her tiny arm and I was pretty certain that was considered an overdose for someone her size. I squared my shoulders and signed myself off to what I had to do. I ripped three patches off as fast as I could and danced out of the way before she could grab them back. Unfortunately she did manage to grab my ankle, causing me to trip and crash down onto the hard floor.  
"Damn," I moaned, grasping my knee which had taken the brunt of the force. In my pain, I had let go of the nicotine patches which were quickly swiped up by Sarah, who stuck them right back on her arm.  
"Don't touch my nicotine patches." She said coldly, "They help me think."  
I frowned, still sat on the floor holding my knee, "Drug overdoses do not help you think. Just like eating isn't a waste of time."  
Sarah rolled her eyes and looked back at me. "I'm not overdosing. You know damn well I smoked six packs a day until you complained of being able to breathe, and me, being the fantastic roomie that I am, replaces the six packs with four patches."  
"You know that patches are meant for you to cut down on your nicotine, not change how you're getting it right?" I asked, watching her duct tape on the slightly less sticky patches. She tossed her brown curls over her shoulder and just snorted. I sighed.  
When I met Sarah, this was not how I thought she'd be. Goes to show you that you shouldn't judge a book by it's cover. She's absolutely beautiful, albeit a bit too skinny from years of drug misuse and refusing to eat unless it was in her immediate interest. She was tall with gorgeous green eyes, and always dressed in a suit jacket, button down shirt, and a skirt. She refused to wear heals, she explained to me once, because she couldn't run as fast as she wanted when chasing down criminals. At first I thought she was joking, as my friend Maryanne Stamford told me that she was a graduate chemist, not a policewoman. However, that first day I moved in proved me totally wrong.  
The day was strange in general; I had only met Sarah for approximately 6 minutes, and now we were moving into a two bedroom flat together. I wasn't complaining, as I had just come out of an assignment in Afghanistan as an Army Medic, and couldn't afford to live in London. Sarah found us a fairly affordable flat, and with the both of us paying, there wouldn't be any issues financially. Especially since I promised myself I would start looking for work in hospitals again as soon as I had settled in. I had just moved all the boxes in when Sarah's phone started ringing loudly. She beckoned me to be quiet, as I was trying to move a wardrobe up the stairs, and immediately started in on talking on a recent murder case I had heard about only once in the news.  
"You've got to let me see the scene Lestrade, you can't just tell me what you've seen," She said sternly, "No... I understand that you've done... Yes, well your lot is completely incompetent. Now listen, I'll have your killer in five minutes if you just... Jesus, just let me see the scene I won't even look at your team I swear... yes I know I offended most of them, but it's not my fault that you hired blithering idiots and you can't solve shit without the help of a graduate chemist who really likes drugs... Yes, thanks I know I am the best. Now just send someone over to grab me. I'll have it solved." She almost had disconnected when I heard muffled screams from the other side.  
"A CHAPERONE? WHAT DO YOU MEAN I NEED A CHAPERONE?" Sarah screamed into her phone, "I'M NOT A BLOODY CHILD!" There was a deadly silence then, "Well I suppose you'll never know who killed her. Live with that inspector." Sarah slammed her cellphone into the table.  
"Not as satisfying as one of the old receivers," I said timidly. Sarah just grunted. I adjusted the extremely heavy wardrobe in my grip. "I could be your chaperone if you wanted," I mumbled.  
"Christ, Jane, you're going to have to speak up if you actually want to get anywhere in life," Sarah said meanly, "Then again, you could never get anywhere. You're just a timid little blonde mouse that's not particularly beautiful nor intelligent enough to get anywhere on her own."  
I shrugged, "If you say so. I was just offering to be your chaperone if you wanted. But, if you really don't want to show off in front of... who was it again... Lestrade, then I would be happy to just stay here and move my stuff into my room."  
Sarah grabbed the wardrobe with amazing strength and moved it into the parlor. "Lets go then," She said, grabbing my wrist and dragging me down the stairs, pausing only for a second to grab her coat and scarf as well as my jacket, and rushing us out into the busy London streets.

Next thing I knew we were at a very gruesome scene; your standard locked door mystery but with a lot more puke than one would imagine. Not exactly what you'd call "book appropriate. However, I knew a drug overdose when I saw one, and this was exactly that. The victim was propped up on a book he appeared to be reading, his eyes staring at the door that we came through. His mouth was open slightly, with some dried puke stains all around. His hands were in his lap, like he had just fallen down while reading.  
"Just a standard drug overdose," I said, slipping on some latex gloves after I had donned the horrible paper suit and shoe covers that were necessary on the scene of a crime. "What is there even to investigate?"  
I could see Sarah pained to even acknowledge the question, as apparently it was exceedingly stupid. "Jane." Sarah said, straining at patience, "Would you please shut the hell up. There is a reason I am here." I shrugged and stepped back from the victim.  
Sarah examined everything with a sort of grace. She was almost like a dancer in the way she bent over the victim with her magnifying glass to observe a specific piece of debris, before quickly snagging it and dropping it into a sealed baggie and twirling away, her coat fluttering behind her slender body. It was almost like she had been here many times before, and knew exactly what was out of place. There were so many threads collected, so many obvious details that were invisible to everyone else. The most obvious, perhaps, was the note I had missed on the book beside the victim.  
"Someone's a copycat," Sarah murmured, studying the note before plucking it from the top of the book.  
"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to get a glimpse at what it said.  
"I mean, someone is trying to copy one of the most famous unsolved crimes," Sarah said, "But they're a complete amateur. They made so many clear mistakes a child could have played this off better. They were too caught up in being clever to actually cover their tracks." She held up the note.  
"Tamam Shud?" I read, "What does that mean?"  
Sarah shook her head, "Of course you wouldn't know. Ever heard of the Somerton man?" I shook my head.  
Sarah sighed and continued. "The Somerton Man was a man that washed up on the beaches in Glenelg, Australia with a piece of paper in his fob watch pocket that said 'Taman Shud', or 'ended' in English. It was torn from a Persian book of poems, 'Rubiyat of Omar Khayyam', and they didn't even find it until months after the body had washed up on the shore. The man was never identified, and therefore no research could ever be done on who committed the crime, especially since all evidence had mostly been washed away by the sea. Even the FBI and Scotland Yard couldn't identify the man, though that's not saying much, as I'm solving a case for Scotland Yard right now, as they're out of their depths. Nevertheless, the only thing they were ever able to find was the copy of the book that had the phrase torn out of it."  
I nodded, "So this person is trying to copy what happened. But why is this guy," I said, kicking the corpse, "Not out to sea, never to be seen again?"  
Sarah frowned, "I guess the killer didn't know a lot about the case. Or just knew enough that he saw it as a good way to be melodramatic. Either way, the man is identifiable as I know him quite well."  
"Well, then, who is he?" I asked.  
"He's my brother."

WHAT THE HELL?


End file.
